


Heuristics

by shotabootyshorts (vegetables)



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fetish Clothing, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Objectification, Oral Sex, Sex, Sibling Incest, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 14:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3854848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegetables/pseuds/shotabootyshorts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hiro stares, blankly, at the wall of socks.  There’s at least three 11 year-old girls next to him, picking out sparkly knee-highs with their mothers in tow.  By now, Hiro can definitely feel the judgment from his fellow shoppers, and he tries to sink further into his hoodie and disappear forever, because there’s no way these parents do not think he’s some poor child in the midst of an identity crisis.  Hiro wishes this was the case.  At least that would be normal, unlike the actual reality, which is that Hiro is buying thigh-highs so he can seduce his brother and make the stupid idiot show him some goddamn passion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heuristics

**Author's Note:**

> I mixed peach schnapps, expired Red Bull and black cherry whiskey, then wrote this, because no one was around to stop me. Send me more bad, nonsensical cocktail recipes [here](http://shota-bootyshorts.tumblr.com/).

> Bro~ English professor didn’t show up. Need to kill a few hours. Meet me in the lab. ;)  
>  Sent at 3:23 p.m.
> 
> Hurry up, nerd. We’re losing time. ♥  
>  Sent at 3:40 p.m.
> 
> ’Dashi? I just tried calling. Are you ignoring me? :(  
>  Sent at 4:02 p.m.
> 
> Come on, you nerd!!!!  
>  Sent at 4:07 p.m.
> 
> FINE. I’M LEAVING.  
>  Sent at 4:16 p.m.
> 
> also, i hid your usb drive because you suck  
>  Sent at 4:17 p.m.

* * *

24 texts and 14 phone calls later, Tadashi finally answers his goddamn phone.

“Finally!” Hiro shouts. “What if I had been in _danger_?”

Tadashi has his little brother on speaker as he looks at the GPS app he installed on his phone. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he chides as he studies Hiro’s exact location. “What danger could you currently be facing outside the school cafeteria?”

There’s a brief pause before Tadashi hears Hiro make some kind of strangled sound of annoyance, followed by the rustling of fabric. The small dot on the GPS app shifts back and forth until it relocates across the screen. Based on Tadashi’s memory of the campus, Hiro just threw his hoodie into the school’s commemorative water fountain.

“You know, Aunt Cass pays good money for your clothes,” Tadashi says. “I suggest you fish that out. Besides, I’m just going to install a tracker into whatever other jacket you start wearing.”

“No, you’re not,” Hiro argues, angrily; “because I’m going to move out and get an apartment with Gogo across town, and you won’t be allowed to visit, so you’ll never be able to touch my clothes again, and how will you possibly handle not knowing where I am 24/7, you big creep?”

Tadashi sighs. “I have to go, Hiro,” he replies, dejectedly. “I have a lecture, but I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“Whatever,” he dismisses.

Only after Hiro hangs up does he realize he didn’t yell at his brother quite enough.

“ _Whatever_ ,” the boy repeats to himself, ignoring the stares from his peers.

* * *

Hiro kicks various pebbles on his walk home. It’s Friday, and Aunt Cass will still be out for the night. She’s off playing trivia with her friends at the bar downtown, and it normally excites Hiro to know he and Tadashi have the house to themselves. However, based on today’s complete lack of response from his brother, tonight isn’t going to entail anything apart from an argument.

It’s nearing 9 p.m., and Tadashi _should_ be home, but Hiro doesn’t know what to expect. His brother has a habit of staying late at the lab, even on Fridays. Neither of them have been in touch since the phone call, so Hiro spent the evening with Fred and Honey Lemon. They had pizza and way too much popcorn and watched _The Rose of Versailles_ , because, according to Honey, both boys needed to “embrace the true origins of the shōjo genre.” It’s always a great time with those two, but Hiro is still pissed off.

Tadashi is avoiding him again. His idiot brother does this at least once every three to four weeks. It’s like some kind of emotional guilt menstruation that sneaks up on Tadashi each month.

When Hiro arrives home, the lamps are off in the kitchen and living room, but the light that floods down from the attic staircase tells him his brother is awake. He stomps up the stairs to their bedroom.

And, of course, there Tadashi is: Sprawled out on his bed in his dumb pajamas, reading a book and looking nonchalant.

“Hey, Hiro,” he greets, and his cheery tone is completely inappropriate, given the emotional trauma he has caused his little brother.

Hiro drops his bag and (still damp) hoodie on his side of the room and looks at Tadashi, skeptically. “The least you could do is apologize for not responding to my texts, bro,” Hiro says. He folds his arms when he approaches the foot of Tadashi’s bed.

Tadashi starts to say something but stops mid-sentence when he catches the grim look on his sibling’s face. “Listen, Wasabi was right beside me when I got the first one. He almost saw it.”

Hiro is insulted. “That’s his problem. Why was he even glancing at your phone? And, who cares if Wasabi sees it? You could tell him it’s a joke.”

Tadashi closes the book he’s reading. “That would be fine if all you ever did was send texts,” he says; “but, how am I supposed to explain why my brother sends me half-nude photos?”

Hiro sort of forgot about that. Last week, bored at home, he’d been so desperate for Tadashi to reply that he ended up stripping down and snapping photo after photo of himself in bed, his t-shirt draped halfway up his chest and his fingers progressively falling further down his body until they hooked the waistband of his briefs. He sent a total of eight pictures, and the only response he received from Tadashi was a very rude text that read: “Stop it.”

“I bet you deleted those,” Hiro says. “You jerk. It took a long time to get the angle right, and Mochi kept jumping on the bed.”

There’s a stretch of silence, and the next look Tadashi gives him is exasperated.

“It’s just a lot to handle,” Tadashi concludes.

Hiro unfolds his arms and lets them hang at his side. He doesn’t feel guilty for the salacious texts and pictures, but Tadashi’s tone reminds Hiro that his bonehead of a brother isn’t necessarily trying to push him away. Tadashi is just—well, he’s overwhelmed.

Hiro often wonders whether his own dismissal for the severity of their relationship is simply a matter of his difference in personality, or if he actually _does_ lack some level of maturity. Hiro knows his hormones are outpacing his ability to understand them—even a genius isn’t spared _that one_ —but, raging hormones and taboo relationships aside, Hiro knows enough about what he wants and how to pursue those desires. And, Tadashi has to know this, too; otherwise, Hiro is certain his older brother never would’ve touched him in the first place.

Hiro eyes Tadashi critically for another moment before sighing.

“Okay,” he surrenders; “I’m sorry.”

 _You win_ , Hiro thinks as he kicks off his shoes and crawls into bed with his sibling.

Tadashi scoots aside and places his forgotten book on the nightstand.

“You smell like popcorn,” Tadashi notes when he nuzzles Hiro’s neck. “Did you have fun at Fred’s house?”

Hiro is melting into Tadashi’s touch, but he still grimaces at the question. Really, he should’ve kept his hoodie in that stupid fountain.

“Why do you get to stalk me, but I can’t send you sexy pictures?” Hiro asks, and he thinks it’s a very valid question.

“It’s my right as the older sibling,” he replies.   His fingers start combing through Hiro’s soft hair. “Sorry, knucklehead.”

Hiro rolls his eyes. If he doesn’t initiate something soon, he’ll be stuck cuddling with Tadashi all night—and, after today’s many travesties, Hiro thinks getting off will be proper justice. Not that it’ll be much different from tender snuggles and timid kisses. Because, _damn it_ , herein lies another problem Hiro has with Tadashi: How fucking _gentle_ he always is with him.

Tadashi’s idea of passion is all too kind. Most times, he won’t even slide his tongue into Hiro’s mouth without preceding it with heavy eye-contact and the declaration of love. The only touch that isn’t apprehensive is the petting of Hiro’s hair, and Hiro isn’t a goddamn cat. Frankly, Hiro is surprised he doesn’t come home to bouquets of roses and candlelight dinners with classy music playing from a record player. And, they don’t own a record player. So, Tadashi would have to go buy one. And, he totally would.

Hiro knows he shouldn’t be complaining. Tadashi _loves_ him. But, Tadashi is so up in his head all the time about their relationship. Again, Hiro sighs; it’s frustrated and over-the-top, and he does it against Tadashi’s shoulder. His older brother is merciful enough not to waste time asking what’s wrong; he simply presses his face into Hiro’s mop of hair, breathing in his scent before kissing his head, softly.

“So, are you going to stop ignoring me every few weeks, like clockwork?” Hiro asks, putting on his best pout.

“I never try to actively _ignore_ you,” he tries to defend, but it lacks direction. “I just—I don’t think we should be doing those kind of things in the lab anymore.”

Hiro quirks his brow and draws a hand up Tadashi’s shirt, fingers spreading across the skin. “It’s always so _exciting_ , though,” Hiro reminisces. His voice is playful, and it matches the smirk drawn on his lips. “Remember last time? How I made you suck at the back of my neck and slide your hand down my—?”

“Yes, Hiro,” Tadashi says, swallowing.

Hiro laughs and climbs into Tadashi’s lap. He can already feel his sibling tensing up—and not in the good way. This isn’t going to be easy, tonight.

“ _Okay_ ,” the boy says, objectively. His hand resumes its work under Tadashi’s shirt until he manages to pull the dreadful attire off his brother. “Agoraphilia isn’t your thing. That’s fine. We can find something else.”

Tadashi doesn’t fight when Hiro’s mouth aims for his neck. He doesn’t even raise a protest when Hiro reaches in for kiss. It’s easier when Hiro directs, Tadashi thinks; less daunting. Hiro lets out a needy moan and kneads himself against Tadashi, whose hands fall to grab at his younger brother’s hips.

“Isn’t this enough?” Tadashi asks between kisses.

“Sloppy making-out? _No_ , this is definitely not enough.”

“No, Hiro,” Tadashi corrects. “I mean, just this: Here, us, alone—simple.”

Hiro grumbles. Well, if Tadashi wants to open this can of worms, so be it.

“But, you’re so— _careful_ , Tadashi. Why are you so careful? I’m not going to break, you know.”

Tadashi makes a thoughtful noise. “Are you sure about that? You do weigh, like, 90 pounds.”

“I do not!” Hiro barks, shoving his shoulder. “Come _on_ , nerd. Isn’t there anything that you _like_? Anything you want to do?”

“No, Hiro; this is fine,” Tadashi says, automatically.

Hiro scrunches his brow in disbelief. “Dude, I’m serious—please,” he says. He makes sure to rub against Tadashi again, emphasizing his point. “There has to be something. _Anything_. I’ll do it.”

“Where is this coming from?” Tadashi asks, and he has to pull away, because Hiro’s desperation is almost startling.

“I know you’re a huge dork, but I refuse to believe you’re actually _this_ vanilla; that’s all.” Hiro leans back in and breathes against Tadashi’s ear. “So, what do you want? Want me to wear a dress? Sit on your face? Call you _daddy_? All three?”

Tadashi’s complexion turns. His grip on Hiro’s hips is suddenly an awkward attempt to urge the boy off his lap. “Hiro...” he draws out. “It’s late. Maybe we should just sleep.”

“ _Ugh_ —forget it!” Hiro yells, flopping onto his back.

It’s silent, afterward. Hiro curls up into a melodramatic ball at the center of the bed, and Tadashi stays positioned against the pillows, rubbing his temples.

Eventually, Hiro gets cold and worms his way back up the bed, next to his sibling. He takes up too much space and hogs the blankets, but Tadashi tolerates it without protest, simply stretching his back and finding what comfort he can. Hiro readjusts himself and makes a point to steal several more inches of bed space by twisting his body until his back is facing Tadashi. There’s a sad whine mixed in there somewhere, and Tadashi has to laugh to himself. Hiro’s mad, but he’s also being theatrical. Tadashi carefully turns to press against Hiro. When there’s no response, he reaches over the smaller body with a tight embrace, fingers grazing the exposed skin of his stomach from where his t-shirt has ridden up.

“Leave me alone,” Hiro groans. “I don’t want your pity handjob.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Well, it should be; I think I deserve one.”

“ _Goodnight_ , Hiro.”

Hiro’s response is another irritated groan.

“Love you, too,” Tadashi says.

* * *

When Hiro wakes up, the sun is glaring down on his face, he has terrible morning breath, and Tadashi is not beside him. Worst of all, he’s fully dressed, which is never a sign of a good night.

Hiro yawns and looks at the clock. It’s too early for a Saturday. He stuffs his face back into the pillow, then immediately decides against it, because it’s _definitely_ too early to be breathing in Tadashi’s comforting scent when the idiot’s nowhere around.

When he hears footsteps on the stairs, Hiro bundles himself in the sheets, hoping that it’s Tadashi so his brother can see just how sad and miserable he has made him, once again. But, it’s Aunt Cass.

“Hiro?” she calls out, clearly inspecting the boy’s empty bed. Hiro mumbles a reply, and Aunt Cass pushes back the room separator. “Honey, what are you doing in Tadashi’s bed?”

Hiro shrugs. “His mattress is more comfy.”

Aunt Cass laughs and walks around the bed to feel Hiro’s forehead. “You have the same type of mattress,” she tells him. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, just tired,” he says. Then, peeking out from the comforter, he asks: “Is Tadashi downstairs?”

Aunt Cass shakes her head. “He said something about going to the lab.” Her tone is a mix of pride and concern. “On the weekend, too! He’s going to work himself to exhaustion—if he hasn’t already. You should really try to convince him to have some fun once and a while.”

“Oh, I try,” Hiro says, truthfully. He vaguely wonders if his aunt hears the implication.

“Well, don’t waste _your_ Saturday just sleeping,” she lightly scolds. “Come down to the restaurant; I’ll whip you up something for breakfast.”

“Thanks, Aunt Cass,” Hiro says, a sincere smile spreading across his face as his aunt ruffles his hair and stands to leave.

Alone, Hiro twists and turns in Tadashi’s sheets, then glowers at the ceiling. He tries to analyze last night’s discussion. It didn’t really get anywhere, now that he thinks about it. First of all, Tadashi, the sly bastard, tricked him into apologizing; then, to make matters worse, his brother completely froze up when Hiro made an actual attempt to get Tadashi to tell him what the hell he wanted.

Really, Hiro thinks, they’re not even good at having proper arguments. Or, _rather_ , Tadashi isn’t. Hiro figures he could probably scream in Tadashi’s face and kick him in the shins, and Tadashi—stupid, perfect, patient Tadashi—would just shake his head and tell Hiro that everything’s going to be all right.

In retrospect, Hiro questions how the hell he even got Tadashi into bed, at all. Their first time hadn’t been perfect, but that was to be expected, and it wasn’t like Hiro was disappointed. It was good; it was _nice_. Tadashi was careful and loving, and Hiro felt safe.

But, it’s been seven months since this started, and Hiro no longer wants Tadashi to whisper his name and kiss his forehead and ask if there’s enough goddamn lube. He wants Tadashi to be rapacious. Clearly, the two of them have creative differences.

Maybe Tadashi doesn’t have the same crazed hormones as most students his age, but Hiro knows that, just because his brother is the hilarious epitome of a dork, doesn’t mean his sex drive is nonexistent. It just needs to be jumpstarted. Hiro just has no idea _how_.

Another grunt.

Hiro sits up and searches for Tadashi’s laptop. He usually doesn’t bring it with him on the weekends. Hiro needs a distraction, and he thinks snooping through Tadashi’s computer will do the job. He yanks the laptop out of the case, starting it up and entering the same password Tadashi has been using for the past two years. ( _Really, Tadashi, you’re so predictable._ ) Tadashi was right in the middle of a lab report when he shut off his computer. Hiro briefly skims the report before minimizing the window and browsing Tadashi’s personal files.

His folders are just as organized as one would expect. In the past, Hiro’s investigated all of them, searching for videos or pictures that could be considered _incriminating_. Of course, there was nothing. Hiro’s not an idiot, either; he knows how to scrounge up hidden and password protected folders—but, nope, _nothing._ Not even on any of Tadashi’s external hard drives. Tadashi was, and still is, painfully and frustratingly pure.

Except, well, for the whole sleeping with his brother thing.

Annoyed all over again, Hiro mindlessly clicks through folders. He laughs at Tadashi’s dumb anime folder, full of high-quality scans and promotional art from his many favorite series. Typical otaku behavior, Hiro thinks as he clicks through the folder with dull interest. It’s not that exciting. Hiro would happily wage his college tuition on Fred’s collection being more interesting (and perverted). Actually, Hiro’s own folders are probably a lot more pathetic and—

— _wait a minute_.

Hiro stops, then clicks the arrow key back and forth between two files. He promptly starts from the beginning.

There’s a reoccurring attribute in Tadashi’s favorite characters.

Rin Tohsaka. Louise Françoise. Lucy Heartfilia. Kyou Fujibayashi. Taiga Aisaka.

“Holy shit,” Hiro breathes, his jaw dropping in half-disbelief, half-elation.

How has he not realized it before?

 _Thigh-highs_.

“You idiot,” he then laughs out, and he’s not sure if he’s referring to himself or his brother.

The laugh turns semi-maniacal as he exits the folder. Once he’s stowed the laptop back in Tadashi’s bag, Hiro makes his way back over to his side of the room and starts up his own computer. He immediately starts his research.

A purple pair is the first to catch Hiro’s eye. They’re sheer with lace trim at the top. Another pair, green opaque nylons with ruffles and bows, are just as fetching and, according to the reviews, quite popular. But, the longer Hiro browses, the more he realizes sheer and opaque aren’t going to cut it. Those are _too_ sexy. He needs to keep it simple.

Classic over-the-knees. Cotton. Black.

Hiro’s about ready to add the socks to his shopping cart when he remembers they’re not going to magically appear at his doorstep within the next hour. No, he doesn’t have time to wait for these things to come in the mail.

Hiro shuts down his computer and grabs his shoes and hoodie. The jacket smells like gross fountain water, but at least it’s dry—Hiro’s just grateful he’s still dressed in yesterday’s clothes. There’s no time to change. This is an emergency.

* * *

On a Saturday afternoon, downtown San Fransokyo is, as Hiro predicts, a madhouse. Hiro has to mentally prepare himself for the crowd by stopping at the Orange Julius stand. He suspects the workers are ready to poison the smoothie mix because there’s far too many tourists hovering over the one recognizable brand name, rather than choosing a local establishment whose juices aren’t chemically distrustful.   Hiro feels only slightly bad about this, as well, but he really likes Orange Julius. Besides, he only brought 3000 yen, and he’s not about to spend 1200 at a fancy juice bar when he has important socks to purchase.

Orange Julius in hand, Hiro enters a boutique that is probably targeted toward pageant contestants. There are no immediate glances sent his way, but he still feels weird. He makes sure to pull up his hoodie and obscure his face.

To his left, a toddler is throwing a tantrum whilst her mother straps high-heels to her feet, and even Hiro can recognize those shoes are about three inches too inappropriate for a child. To his right, another mother is berating her teenage daughter about “fat calves” and “wide hips.”

Hiro rubs the back of his neck as he awkwardly stands in the middle of the shop.

“Why, Tadashi?” he mutters to himself. “Why do you have to be so damn _reserved_?”

When he senses an employee is about to ask if he needs assistance, his feet start working again. The socks are adjacent to the abused toddler in stilettos.

Hiro stares, blankly, at the wall of socks. There’s at least three 11 year-old girls next to him, picking out sparkly knee-highs with their mothers in tow. By now, Hiro can definitely feel the judgment from his fellow shoppers, and he tries to sink further into his hoodie and disappear forever, because there’s no way these parents do not think he’s some poor child in the midst of an identity crisis. Hiro wishes this was the case. At least that would be normal, unlike the actual reality, which is that Hiro is buying thigh-highs so he can seduce his brother and make the stupid idiot show him some _goddamn passion_.

He’s grateful his hoodie covers just how red his face is beaming. Hiro pulls out his phone, nearly dropping his Orange Julius in the process, and does a quick search of Tadashi’s favorite characters, just for validation that the black thigh-highs will do. He’s pretty sure one of the mothers is glancing over at his phone, and Hiro can only hope she doesn’t think he’s a disgusting freak who is buying apparel for a kidnapped child bride in his basement. Maybe she thinks he’s searching for cosplay accessories. Yeah, cosplay. That’ll be a good excuse if the mom or cashier or government asks any questions.

Hiro stuffs his phone back in his pocket and reaches out for the first pair of black thigh-highs he spots.

“Excuse me, young man?”

Hiro yelps, leaps back, and drops the neatly packaged pair of socks.

“Y-Yes?” he answers, and he feels about six inches tall as he stares up at the female store attendant.

She smiles, politely. “We have a no food or drink policy in the store,” she explains, gesturing to his beverage. “There’s a sign right on the door.”

He starts breathing again. “Oh,” he answers. “Um, sorry. Okay, I was about to checkout, anyway.”

“Ah, wonderful. I can ring you out.”

Hiro nods and picks up the socks. He’s about the color of tomato, and he thinks he actually hates Tadashi, at this point. This is all that idiot’s fault. Hiro keeps his head low as he follows the attendant to the register. When she rings up the socks, he can’t even muster the courage to look up from his shoes. Perhaps that’s for the better, he theorizes.

“Have a good day,” the lady says, handing over the socks in a small plastic bag.

Hiro smiles at the cashier with nervous, overly-exaggerated enthusiasm before grabbing the bag and whirling around to leave. He turns around so quickly that he collides with the teenage girl and her verbally abusive mother. The flimsy paper cup that holds his Orange Julius explodes, leaving all of them covered in a tangerine-colored mess.

After apologizing profusely, the store attendant, who is no longer all smiles and goodwill, reminds him this is why there’s a no beverage policy for the store, then not-so-gently asks him to leave.

Hiro is more than happy to abide.

* * *

Back home, Hiro dodges Aunt Cass as he rushes through the café, keeping his arms crossed to hide the orange sludge on his hoodie.

Mochi is perched at the top of the apartment stairs, eager for attention, but Hiro zooms past the cat and heads straight for the bedroom. This, along with Hiro pushing him off the bed several dozen times during that semi-nude photo session, will surely be added to Mochi’s growing number of reasons why he dislikes the youngest member of the Hamada family.

Hiro will have to make amends, later. Otherwise, he’s absolutely certain that, if Mochi ever learns to talk, the calico will go running straight to Aunt Cass to tell her how often Hiro has ignored him in favor of pursuing incestuous misdeeds.

Safe in the confines of his room, Hiro throws off his hoodie.

Yesterday, it was fountain water. Today, Orange Julius.

Hiro wonders if it’s time to retire the damned piece of clothing.

“Both were Tadashi’s fault, anyway,” Hiro concludes as he sits on the edge of his bed and rips open the package of socks.

The cotton feels thicker between his fingers. They’re not the least bit sheer, either, which is reassuring. For a moment, Hiro strains his ears to check for any movement downstairs. _Nothing_. Aunt Cass remains busy in the restaurant, and Tadashi is still at SFIT.

Hiro abandons his shoes and socks and, while he’s at it, his shirt and shorts. Clad in only his briefs, Hiro leans down and glides one long, cotton sock over his leg. The fabric is soft against his skin. Pleasant. Hiro’s heart is beating a mile a minute. There’s something oddly exciting about this whole thing. He pulls the other sock on and straightens the fabric into place on both his thighs.

Hiro rises to his feet and looks at himself in the mirror.

Okay, so, it’s a bit weird to be standing in his briefs and wearing goddamn over-the-knee socks; but, Hiro thinks, maybe, he actually looks good. He knows he has nice legs. In Tadashi’s more relaxed moments, he’s paid special attention to Hiro’s long legs, massaging his calves and squeezing his thighs, all while his mouth works at his younger sibling’s neck and shoulders. Hiro shivers at the memories. Tadashi’s hands always feel so _good_ , especially when he’s not so timid.

The fabric accentuates the thin shape of his thighs, but he’s a bit dissatisfied with how boring his gray briefs look. He clearly didn’t think this through enough. What the hell is he supposed to wear _with_ the thigh-highs? Tadashi would be too overwhelmed if Hiro went out and bought a matching dress, and there’s something a bit too intimidating about greeting Tadashi stark naked, sans the thigh-highs. Tadashi wouldn’t like that much, anyway; it’s too forward.

He starts pacing, then realizes how comical this must look—padding back and forth in the room in his underwear and these stupid socks. He stops and mutters a few swears, directed to himself and Tadashi, and the entire universe.

He’s about ready to call the whole thing off when he spots one of Tadashi’s SFIT shirts hanging over the desk chair.

_Problem solved._

Hiro grabs the shirt and throws it over his body.

“You’re too good, Hamada,” he tells his reflection, laughing as he thumbs at his briefs to slide them off.

This is already better. Remarkably so.

There’s a strange gratification in seeing himself drowning in Tadashi’s large shirt. Even greater when he turns around and glances over his shoulder to see how the shirt covers him _just_ modestly enough, the hem dangling over the curve of his ass. Yes, _much_ better.

A grin spreads across his face, and the courage returns. He’s going to do this. He’s _going_ to get Tadashi to break.

Hiro spends a good twenty or so minutes doing a quick cleanup of the room. It’s half past five when he hears his brother’s Vespa pull up. His heart races. He gives himself one last primp in the mirror before settling on Tadashi’s bed.

It’s a good sign when he only hears Tadashi talking to Mochi. It’s probably still too busy in the café for Aunt Cass to leave.

Hiro gulps and sits back against the pillows. His thighs stay pressed together, one leg resting and the other propped up. He makes sure to also pull at the hem of shirt, careful not to be _too_ revealing. Another wave of doubt washes over him, because he suddenly feels _ridiculous_ , but there’s no time to back out. Tadashi is already up the stairs, and his shadow is shifting behind the thin paper of the room separator. He’s halfway through calling out Hiro’s name when he advances past the corner and sees his brother.

It takes exactly five seconds for Tadashi to take in the scene.

He stares. Wordless. Face red.

“Hiro...” Tadashi starts.

The younger boy smirks and tilts his head, feigning innocence.

“Why does it smell like Jamba Juice in here?”

Hiro’s expression falters.

“It’s not Jamba Juice; it’s Orange Julius!” he yells. “Jamba Juice is disgusting, Tadashi. Also, that’s not the point. You _do_ see what I’m wearing, right?”

“Well, yes,” Tadashi answers. “I’m just not sure why.”

Hiro’s suddenly not sure, either.

This was rash. _Impulsive_. Hiro can’t even remember what he was envisioning. Did he expect Tadashi to grab him and pin him to the bed with brutal force? Did he expect Tadashi to bend him over and fuck him until he was aching?

Hiro’s legs fall flat on the bed. “I thought you’d be _into_ it,” he admits.

Tadashi removes his hat and places it on his desk. His eyes scan Hiro, but he says nothing. Of course, Hiro doesn’t miss how his sibling’s lower-lip disappears beneath the top.

“You look...”

Hiro brightens. “ _Yes_...?”

But, Tadashi continues to struggle.

Displeased, Hiro huffs and rises to balance himself on his knees. He’s eye-level with Tadashi, now. “Is it that difficult to give your little brother a _compliment_?” he inquires, urging Tadashi closer by grabbing at his cardigan.

He flushes. The shirt Hiro has apparently stolen is _huge_ on the boy’s slender form. When Hiro stretches his arms out, wrapping them around Tadashi’s shoulders and pulling him close, the material hikes up, and Tadashi knows if he looks down, he’ll get quite the eyeful.

Hiro’s mouth nips at his jaw. “Please,” he whispers, hot breath escaping his lips as they travel to press against Tadashi’s ear. “Tadashi, you’re not fair, you know that? You’re driving me _insane_.”

“Aunt Cass is right downstairs,” he reminds Hiro, placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

The younger boy hums, thoughtfully, as teeth graze Tadashi’s skin. “The café doesn’t close for another _two hours_.”

Tadashi shuts his eyes when Hiro shifts against him; and, soon, he’s conceding. His hands drift under Hiro’s shirt— _my shirt_ , he thinks—and it doesn’t take long before he’s raking at the boy’s back. Hiro moans and clings closer.

“You look good in my shirt,” Tadashi tells him. His hands travel down, squeezing his brother’s ass. Another whine. “And, these,” he continues, a finger now hooking into the top of one thigh-high; “I can’t believe—Hiro, you’re _ridiculous_.”

“I’m not the one with a collection of waifu pictures, bro,” Hiro retorts, directing his mouth onto Tadashi’s. He grinds against him, pleased when he feels how hard Tadashi already is, then pulls at the man’s belt. It drops to the floor with a heavy _clank_ , and he immediately starts yanking off Tadashi’s cardigan and shirt. “I think I look _way_ better, though.”

Tadashi laughs against the next kiss and slips his tongue through Hiro’s lips. Outside, there’s traffic bustling, and it’s strange, Tadashi thinks, to be accompanied by that level of street noise. _People_ , still out and about. The sun, although fading, is cascading over their bedroom. It’s different. They’re used to the fleeting wind of the late trolleys, the squeal of an old car braking at the corner light, distant horns and screeches from several streets over.

Hiro is pressing into Tadashi’s mouth so urgently that his knees begin to inch off the bed. Tadashi steadies him and reaches down their bodies to explore between the boy’s legs. He’s not quite hard yet, but that changes when Tadashi strokes the insides of his thighs. Fingers tease the heated skin, and their lips still cling to one another.

“ _Ah_ , Tadashi,” Hiro pants. He’s pulling at the waist of Tadashi’s jeans and underwear, still trying to get the infernal things off. “This is all I wanted, you know. For you to pay attention. Why is that— _so difficult_?”

Tadashi manages to step out of his last pieces of clothing. He immediately pulls Hiro back toward him, nails digging into his hips as the boy eagerly rocks against him. The friction then quickens, and Tadashi buries his nose in Hiro’s hair. When he starts to tug at the shirt Hiro’s wearing, the boy arches away and smirks.

“Ah, ah,” Hiro chides, wagging a finger. “I think I’d rather leave it on, ’Dashi.”

Hiro urges Tadashi onto the bed. He goes down without a fight, allowing Hiro to pin him against the pillows and crawl into his lap. Their mouths quickly fuse, and a muffled cry is heard from Hiro when he feels Tadashi stroking his cock.

“You’ve been waiting for this, all day, haven’t you?” Tadashi asks in a whisper. “I’m surprised you didn’t send any pictures.”

“As if you would’ve responded,” Hiro says. He scoots away from Tadashi’s lap until he can stretch his legs out on either side of the man’s chest. He raises one foot and invites Tadashi to touch. “Although, if you’ve had a change of heart, I’d be more than _happy_ to accommodate you with photos in the future.”

Tadashi finally allows himself a thorough look at Hiro’s legs. Color hits his cheeks again; only, this time, it’s ten shades brighter.

“ _Jesus_ , Hiro,” Tadashi comments, laughing in an exhausted heat of arousal and amusement. He reaches out to touch his brother’s legs. “Ridiculous,” he repeats.

“You love it,” Hiro shoots back.

There’s an intense look of concentration on Tadashi’s face as his fingers sprawl across the cotton. He moves his hand up just a bit, then leans in to kiss Hiro’s foot. Hiro doesn’t mean to let the small squeak escape his lips, but he wasn’t expecting Tadashi to be so explorative.

“Very nice,” Tadashi chuckles.

Hiro hopes Tadashi doesn’t expect a footjob— _is that a term?_ he briefly wonders—because he knows his limits, and he’s definitely not nimble enough with his feet for that to be anything except awkward. Luckily, Tadashi doesn’t seem to be interested in anything beyond molesting the hell out of Hiro’s ankles and soles. And, it feels good. Tadashi is touching him in all the right ways. It’s ticklish in an erotic sense, nerves being stimulated with the soft press of Tadashi’s fingertips and mouth. Hiro enjoys the way Tadashi’s breath feels against the cotton. His legs are growing hotter, and the heat beneath the fabric of the thick socks only serves to excite Hiro further.

Really, he could get used to having his legs worshipped like this...

When Tadashi gently bites at his heel, Hiro throws his head back, gasping. He can feel Tadashi smiling against his foot, and the jerk does it again. Beneath Hiro, Tadashi is achingly hard, and he makes sure to squirm against his brother’s lap, causing Tadashi to bite a third time. This time, it sort of hurts.

“ _Uhn_ , Tadashi,” Hiro whines, but he’s still squirming, impatient.

Tadashi rubs Hiro’s foot before wrapping his hand around the boy’s small ankle. He slides his hand up to caress Hiro’s calf. Tadashi gazes at him, hungrily, before bringing his hand up further, spreading it across the boy’s thigh and, eventually, to the soft, pale flesh of his ass.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Tadashi asks. His fingers are trailing just centimeters where he knows Hiro wants them, and he watches his sibling’s face turn crimson as he nods. Tadashi pulls his hand away when he feels him about to crawl off his lap. “Mm, no, Hiro—stay there,” he tells him.

Hiro does as he’s told while Tadashi reaches to grab the lube from his nightstand. Hiro bites his lip. “Hurry,” he breathes out, watching his brother pop open the bottle.

Of course, at the sound of Hiro’s request, Tadashi goes even slower, rubbing the lube between his fingers at a leisurely pace. Two can play at this game, though. Hiro bends his right leg and sweeps his foot over Tadashi’s chest, his toes curling beneath the sock as he grazes Tadashi’s nipple. He practically cackles when Tadashi stops and gawks at him, stunned by his flexibility.

“I said, hurry,” Hiro tells him, smugly.

Tadashi smirks. He pushes Hiro’s thighs apart until his fingers are able to reach back between his legs. There’s a weak mewl from Hiro, and Tadashi rewards him by wrapping his other hand around the boy’s neglected erection.

“ _Nngh_ —feels good, Tadashi—so good.”

Tadashi begins a slow rhythm. Already, Hiro is gasping and panting, and a small trail of precome leaks from the tip of his cock. Tadashi thumbs over it, spreading the fluid across the length as his hand continues to move up and down.

“More,” Hiro demands. He stretches his leg again and links it over the crook of Tadashi’s arm. He guides it toward his brother’s face and presses his toes into his mouth. “Put your fingers in me, you idiot,” he snarls.

Tadashi has to pull away to adjust his back on the pillows. Hiro’s long legs make the position easy enough, and neither of them have to abandon their tasks as Tadashi leans against the plush cushions. Hiro wiggles to feel his brother’s hard cock rubbing against his backside. He wants so desperately to have it inside him—fucking him, rough and hard; but, first, he wants his fingers.

“ _Please_.”

Finally, there’s one finger; then, carefully, a second. Hiro buckles forward and yells his brother’s name.

“ _Mm_ , yes, ’Dashi,” he breathes, rolling his hips on the slick fingers.

He clenches around Tadashi when his fingers dive further. He’s already aiming for Hiro’s most sensitive spot.

“Touch yourself,” Tadashi tells him, releasing his grip on Hiro’s cock.

Hiro groans. _God_ , was this too much to ask? Hearing Tadashi speak like this makes Hiro insatiable. He whimpers and grabs his cock with one shaky hand, gaze heavy on his brother. Tadashi twists and bends his fingers, and Hiro cants his hips into the touch with a sharp inhale.

“Holy _shit_ ,” he breathes.

Hiro’s legs tremble. He wants to collapse and demand that Tadashi just _fuck him_ , but his brother’s ravenous expression stops him. Hiro’s never seen Tadashi look at him with such lecherous hunger. It’s almost more rewarding than having Tadashi buried deep inside him. Hiro laughs amidst his next groan, diving his toes back into Tadashi’s mouth. And, _shit_ , Tadashi really seems to like that, because Hiro can feel his erection twitching beneath him. Hiro makes sure to lean back, rubbing against it as he continues to stroke himself. Tadashi’s moan vibrates through his entire body, and the fabric of the sock is wet with his saliva.

Tadashi, the _bastard_ , is barely helping, at this point. He’s just _watching_. Watching as Hiro fucks himself on his brother’s fingers and strokes his own cock, whimpering and sweating and pleading—all while dressed in Tadashi’s stupid SFIT shirt and wearing _goddamn_ thigh-highs.

Hiro loves how licentious this feels. It’s the exhibition, knowing Tadashi’s attention is only on _him_. There’s a strain in his thighs from just how wide his legs are spread, and Hiro bites his lip as his fist works at a faster pace on his cock. Up and down, up and down. It only takes one final curve and winding of his hips for Tadashi’s fingers to hit him _just right_. His muscles tighten as he comes, pulling his foot from Tadashi’s mouth and throwing his body forward. He chokes out a sob and spills his hot release onto his hand and stomach.

Tadashi expects Hiro to fully collapse on his chest, but the boy stays put, breathless and hunched over. There’s a determined look in his eye as he collects himself and gives his limp cock a few extra strokes.

“You’re beautiful, Hiro,” Tadashi tells him.

“S-Shut up...” he growls.

Hiro pulls himself off Tadashi’s fingers, only briefly wincing at the loss before he traps Tadashi’s thighs beneath his small hands. His mouth is on Tadashi’s cock in the next second, barely giving Tadashi a moment to protest before he’s taking the hard length into his mouth.

“ _Shit_ , Hiro,” Tadashi gasps, and his hands flail. He’s about to urge his sibling off him, but he freezes when Hiro groans around his erection. “Hiro— _ah_ , you—”

Hiro’s tongue teases the tip, then laps around the base. A single hand is working alongside his mouth; it’s still slick with his own seed, and Tadashi shivers at the filthy sound produced when small fingers pump at his cock.

Abruptly, Hiro withdraws and smirks.

“You want me to stop?” he whispers. Each hot breath pools around Tadashi’s cock, and Hiro chuckles at how broken Tadashi looks. His mouth is moving, attempting to speak, but there’s only incoherent noises.  Hiro’s smirk widens. “ _Hmm_ , I didn’t think so.”

Their gazes lock as Hiro licks his lips. Tadashi groans and watches, once more, as his cock disappears into his baby brother’s wet, accommodating mouth.

“You don’t have to— _ah_ , Hiro, _shit_.”

Tadashi’s hips rise into the hot confinement. He curses when he feels the tip of his cock press against the very back of Hiro’s throat. Hiro gags but is quick to settle himself. He stifles the next sound of discomfort and shuts his eyes, allowing himself to fall into a rhythm.

“Hiro,” Tadashi whispers—so broken, so defeated, so _happy_.

The boy’s eyes flutter back open when Tadashi’s hands rest against his head. He hums around Tadashi’s cock, then sinks forward. Tadashi’s fingers curl. He pulls Hiro’s hair and rolls his hips, holding Hiro still as he takes over and slides his cock deep into his brother’s throat. Hiro gags—loudly—and comes back up with a string of saliva hanging from his mouth.

 _Fuck_.

It’s depraved, Tadashi thinks. It’s so lewd and perverse, but the way his brother looks with those glossy eyes and stretched jaw— _fuck_ , it’s incredible. Hiro, too, apparently loves it. He wastes no time when he catches his breath. He’s sinking down on Tadashi’s cock again, holding himself in place, and Tadashi quakes and _moans_. That tight, hot mouth is taking him whole. Hiro pulls back, just a bit, but some spit spews down his chin, and _that_ sends Tadashi over the edge.

“Hiro, I’m—”

But, when Tadashi attempts to draw him off, the younger boy grunts in protest and plunges deeper. An incoherent mix of swears, tangled around Hiro’s name, flow from Tadashi’s lips as the orgasm thrums through him. Hiro’s eyes shut, swallowing what he can.

Hiro pulls off and collapses at the foot of Tadashi’s bed, feeling pretty damn pleased with himself as he wipes his mouth. He considers saying something smug, but his concentration is jolted when he feels Tadashi grabbing his legs.

“ _Hey_ , Tadashi—!”

He pulls Hiro by the thighs and slides him across the sheets to loom over the smaller body. Hiro yelps in surprise, looking up at his sibling with confusion until he catches Tadashi’s inflamed stare.

“My baby brother—in _thigh-highs_ ,” Tadashi observes, heatedly. He leans down and captures Hiro in a thorough kiss, moaning inwardly when he tastes himself on those lips. “You’re truly something else, Hiro.”

“You know,” Hiro says with a grin; “black wasn’t the only option. There was quite the assortment, so I could make another purchase, if you wanted.”

Tadashi’s hands coast down Hiro’s legs and squeeze his calves. “That’s not necessary,” he whispers against his neck. “These are more than fine.”

“All right,” he concedes, wrapping his arms around Tadashi. “I don’t think I’m allowed back in that store for a while, anyway.”

Tadashi decides not to ask. Instead, he snakes a hand down Hiro’s body, slowly beginning to stroke him. Hiro swells under Tadashi’s palm and immediately squirms closer.  The SFIT shirt is bunching around his chest, but Hiro doesn’t dare remove it, despite the chafing; he’s far too invested in the way Tadashi’s eyes fixate on the attire’s loose fit.

Hiro whimpers and arches his back, reminding his brother just how shameless he can be as he starts to lift his legs. Tadashi smirks while his free hand runs up Hiro’s thighs to pinch the exposed flesh. He then snaps the end of the socks and allows his fingers to graze beneath, and Hiro makes an appreciative noise—even more so after he feels Tadashi’s hardening cock rubbing against his thigh. Hiro’s actually quite impressed by his sibling’s refractory period; and, for a moment, he’s divided about teasing him now and praising him later, but the thoughts evaporate when Tadashi straightens his back and slings Hiro’s legs over his shoulders. The boy gasps at the change of position, feeling exposed all over again as Tadashi settles between his legs.

Obscenely bent and legs hiked, Hiro’s breath catches, and there’s no resistance when Tadashi slides into him, still stretched and slick from before. Hiro’s toes curl beneath the socks. He hisses out a swear, and Tadashi pushes himself forward until Hiro’s tight entrance fully encases him.

“Tadashi...”

Hearing his name from Hiro, twisted with eager desire, makes his chest constrict. Tadashi grabs at the collar of the SFIT shirt, pulling Hiro into a fervent kiss that leaves the corner of his brother’s mouth damp with drool.

Tadashi’s resolve is gone. His forearms are clamped firmly around Hiro’s thighs as he thrusts into him, over and over. Hiro is wet and _so tight_ , and it astounds Tadashi how small his brother’s body is, how he is completely bent, yet Tadashi can reach down and capture that panting mouth with his own. The rich, echoing sound of Hiro’s voice fills the air, and Tadashi pulls the boy’s hips higher, making the angle easier as his cock slides in and out.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hiro curses. He’s sweating far more than Tadashi is, at this point. His feet feel moist under the cotton, and the shirt is clinging to his sweaty chest. “ _Mmm_ —so good, ’Dashi.”

The nickname only unravels his brother further. Tadashi presses his nose into Hiro’s calf, breathing into the fabric as he bites at his ankle. Hiro repeats the nickname, and Tadashi’s hand works at his leaking cock with a nearly painful grip until Hiro’s body spasms, climaxing for a second time. The hot white fluid coats Tadashi’s fingers, and his thrusts instantly become more frantic. Hiro—the devilish, knowing brat—constricts around him. That’s all it takes for Tadashi to spill into Hiro, silencing a loud grunt by clamping his teeth _hard_ around Hiro’s ankle.

Strained, their bodies untangle, and the room becomes unusually silent. Hiro is still at the foot of the bed, Tadashi at the head; and, the younger boy manages enough energy to knead his foot against Tadashi’s hip, playfully. Tadashi doesn’t mind. He simply stares at the wooden joists and beams above him, taking notice of how the green paint is chipping near the ceiling’s slant. When Hiro’s foot stops moving, he thinks, perhaps, his sibling has fallen asleep—but, soon, Hiro starts laughing. He clutches his ribs and sits up to look at Tadashi.

“I _knew_ I’d get you,” he brags between chortles.

Tadashi wishes he had a defense ready, for that. Unfortunately, he doesn’t disagree.

With a long yawn, Hiro finally removes the SFIT t-shirt, using it to clean off both himself and his brother. Tadashi isn’t too pleased by this, but he figures they’ll probably have to burn that shirt, along with the socks (and their entire bedroom).

“That last bite really hurt,” Hiro complains. He strips off the sock and examines his ankle, eyes widening when he sees the deep indentations of Tadashi’s teeth. “ _Dude_ , look!” He shoves his foot in Tadashi’s face.

Tadashi tries to show empathy, but he all he does is chuckle and gently guide Hiro’s foot away. Hiro pouts and removes his other sock to throw at Tadashi’s head.

Eventually, Tadashi peels himself from the bed. “Aunt Cass is probably going to need help closing.” His tone has that familiar sound of wariness that it usually does, post-afterglow. “We should shower, then help her out.”

Hiro cranes his neck to glance out the window, where the sun is only just starting to disappear behind neighboring buildings. It’s still so early. His thoughts turn mischievous as he wonders whether Tadashi will be up for more, after dinner. He smirks to himself and stands.

“Oh, by the way,” Hiro says, following his brother into the bathroom; “I’ve decided you owe me an Orange Julius.”

* * *

Come Monday morning, Tadashi still has not supplied Hiro with a replacement Orange Julius, despite being filled in on the horrific destruction of the last one. Hiro reminds his older brother about this quite vehemently during their morning commute, but Tadashi pretends he can’t hear the clamors over the sound of his Vespa. They pass a total of three Orange Julius stands on their route to SFIT. Four, actually, if Hiro counts the one currently closed by the health department (and he does).

“This is absurd,” Hiro bemoans, sitting at a lab bench and staring at the textbook and worksheet before him. “I can’t concentrate without sugar. My education depends on it.”

Gogo quirks a brow. “Wouldn’t it be more convenient if you just got addicted to coffee?” she reasons. “I’d kill for my family to own a café.”

Hiro just groans and frantically texts Fred about the dire importance of obtaining sugar.

By 10 a.m., Fred strolls into the lab with an Orange Julius drink tray, passing out obnoxiously-colored smoothies to his friends.

Gogo takes a sip and blanches. “This tastes like piss,” she says. She opens the lid and inspects the inside, because she’s fairly certain nothing should taste this revolting unless someone did, in fact, urinate in the cup.

“It’s tolerable,” Tadashi bargains, after a taste.

Fred is already halfway through his large cup when he points out: “Yo, Wasabi, you haven’t touched yours.” He looks hurt until he realizes this works to his advantage. “I’ll drink yours, if you don’t want it.”

Wasabi surrenders the untouched cup and watches as Hiro jots down some notes on his paper. The boy is in considerably brighter spirits, now that he’s gotten his way.

“Tadashi, are you sure it’s okay for Hiro to drink one of those?” Wasabi asks, concerned. “There’s 54 grams of sugar in a _small_. That’s the equivalent of 13 teaspoons of sugar.”

Fred rubs a hand to his chin and gives Hiro a once-over. “He’s right, little man. All that sugar could stunt your growth, and you’re already pretty short for your age.”

Hiro glowers and clutches to the smoothie as though it’s an oxygen tank. Tadashi just laughs and takes another hearty gulp of his own beverage.

“Good morning!”

The cheery greeting comes from Honey Lemon, who saunters into the lab, clapping excitedly about a new school week, all while adorning a chiffon blouse, pleated mini-skirt, and a pair of pretty, black thighs-highs.

Tadashi chokes on his Orange Julius, dropping the cup to the floor, where it promptly explodes.


End file.
